The Fix
by wp1fan
Summary: When it's broken, but you don't know why, is it possible to find the fix? Chapter 6 up now.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Don't hate me. This is an experiment.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. But, I love them.  
**

"Hey, there you are." He's a little out of breath when he finally catches up to her right outside the evidence room. He thought for sure she saw him heading towards the elevator as the doors closed between them, but she made no move to hold it for him. Weird.

So, he took the stairs instead. This is her (their) first day back at the precinct, and he's spent the better part of the day with the Ryan and Esposito. Even though Gates was the one to convince Kate to withdrawal her resignation and just finish out her suspension, she knew she'd be under scrutiny and didn't want to add fuel to the fire. It was, actually, his idea to spend today apart, so they could get a feel for being back.

"Hi. I'm, um, kind of in a hurry. My current case might have a connection to a cold one. I need to go," she points to the door.

"Wanna grab some lunch? When you're done. My treat," he proposes. She gives him a gentle smile that doesn't reach her eyes. Well, she's probably just exhausted.

"I already had lunch with Lanie earlier. In the morgue. Sorry," she offers. "I figured you and the boys would have eaten on your way back from serving your warrant."

"_They_ did. I was waiting on you." She looks guilty and he regrets the words. "Don't worry about it, though. I thought we'd get pizza for dinner anyway. Especially if I get the "Sweet Pig" from Giovanni's. Bacon and ham and pineapple and…grease. I could afford to skip a meal." He smiles, expects a smile from her too, but it doesn't come. "By the way, eating in the morgue _cannot_ be sanitary, Beckett."

"Lanie's OCD. You could eat off of her slab."

His face screws up. "Ew. Tell me you didn't." He leans into her personal space just slightly, props his hand on the doorframe behind her, flicks his eyes to her lips. God, she smells good. "I kiss that mouth," he whispers, after looking around to make sure they're out of earshot.

"Castle. Don't." She pushes on his chest and he backs up, stands more upright, a little embarrassed at the rejection.

"Sorry. Sorry. I didn't think that qualified as breaking the rules." They were tangled in her sheets that morning, her fretting nervously about their first day back, while he tried to distract her by sliding his mouth over random parts of her body. This is when she tried setting some ground rules. She was naming things he couldn't do—_they_ couldn't do, she amended when he huffed—while at work, in her car (_shucks_), on NYPD assignments, etcetera etcetera. When his lips clamped onto the flesh at her throat and his hand slipped between her thighs, he asked if _that_ would qualify as '_off limits'_. She pinched his ear and spread her legs wider. He loves her mixed signals.

"We don't need people talking." There isn't anyone around except a man, it's not even the usual guy, stationed twenty feet or so away, whose job it is to log evidence in and out. He isn't paying them any attention, though—playing on his phone.

"I'm not yet used to censoring myself around you. I'll do better, I promise." He gives her the _'Scout's Honor'_ gesture, and she disappoints when she doesn't call him out on the fact that he was never a Scout. She seems distracted. "Oh, lunch with Lanie," he blurts, realization hitting him. "Did you talk to her? About…you know"

It's been three weeks since they consummated their relationship, three weeks of making love, making plans, three weeks of hiding it all from their friends and family so they could get to know one another in this new capacity without prying eyes. But, this was the week that would all change. They decided she would tell Lanie first, then (as gossip would have it) the news would make its natural progression to their immediate work family. And, tonight, over dinner, they would reveal to his mother and Alexis.

He's excited.

"Yes, I told her."

"And?" Giddiness oozes from him; he can feel it, but is too happy to apologize for it. "Was she surprised? Oh, I bet she was so mad, wasn't she? Ah, I love it."

She's quiet for long moments. Too long. Then, she surprises him by reaching up and pressing her fingers to his lips, smoothing them before moving to his chin, letting them linger, then finally drops them to his chest over his heart. Um, that's probably breaking the rules, right? _Not complaining._ "Castle—," she starts, stops.

Her eyes are shiny, red rimmed. What's going on here? "What is it?"

"We can't do this." She pulls her hand back and tucks it under her arm pit, hugging herself.

"I understand, Kate." He nods, trying to soothe her. "I really am sorry for earlier."

"No, you don't understand." She sighs heavily.

"Help me to, then. What's wrong?"

"We can't do this. Us. It's—it's not going to work, Castle."

No.

This is some kind of joke. Yeah, he can totally see Lanie orchestrating this. He knew she'd be happy for them, but furious that they successfully kept it a secret for weeks. This is her payback. Ha, she's pretty clever.

But, Kate. She's crying now, full, fat tears are sliding down her cheeks and…this is not a joke, is it? His throat is closing, but a sob pushes though, spills from his lips. He stumbles backwards, wants to leave, preserve an iota of dignity, but can't. He reaches for her, drops his arm when she shakes her head.

He doesn't understand. What did he do? The day rewinds in his mind. They made love this morning; she seemed contented then. And she washed his hair. And kissed him over coffee. And…this doesn't make any sense. "Whatever I did, Kate, I can fix it. Just tell me," he pleads.

"It's not you. You didn't—you've been perfect."

"Then what is it?" His chest is heavy; he sucks in a breath on a wheeze. She's not saying anything. She's tense, caged, ready to run.

"You should go, Rick." She won't meet his eyes—if she meets his eyes, they'll be fine.

"No. You don't get to do this to me—to us—and not tell me why. I get a chance to fix this."

_Let me fix it. _

"You can't fix it. There's nothing broken."

"Bullshit," he snaps. She flinches, but he doesn't backtrack. "I thought you cared about me."

"I do," she sniffles. "You know I do."

"Do I? Because this isn't how you treat someone you care about."

"It's complicated."

"_You're_ making it complicated. I don't know why. It doesn't have to be. Kate, I love you. You don't have to say it back for me to know that you can love me one day, Kate. Don't you feel this? How good we are?"

"Castle, stop." Her voice is calm now, too smooth, emotionless. Two uniformed officers are walking past them, one turns his head, tries to sneak an observation, but keeps up with his steps, disappears around the corner. He's sure he looks a mess, can taste the tears on his tongue.

"No, you stop!" He grabs her elbows, tugs her until she's only inches from his face. Personal space be damned; he can't lose her. "Look me right in the eye and tell me you don't want me. Do that, Kate, and I'll let you go."

She meets his eyes, then. Hers are cold, dark, and lifeless. It scares him. He's never-

"I don't want you."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for your response and all of the support (and hate!). I love all of your ideas, though mine isn't nearly as clever and intricate. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine.  
**

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"Hey girl, I got your full tox report." The voice jerks her from her thoughts. Kate straightens in her chair a bit, still stares down at her desk, blows out a steadying breath and raises her head with a last swipe at her eyes. Lanie's reading off of the page, not looking at her. Good; she's got a few extra seconds to compose herself. "You're not going to like it," she says, as she plops down in Castle's chair.

No, not _Castle's_ chair. Just a rickety piece of furniture that resides by her desk. The same one that was here before him. It'll still be here after him. She's giving it more symbolism than deserved. Only, if it's just a damn chair, why does it hurt so badly to think of him never occupying it again?

She sighs. "Results clear?"

"As a bell. Like the prelim suggested, nothing in his system."

Kate takes her notepad and crosses off the small list of suspects one-by-one, until she's left with none. That's the same amount she started with this morning when she picked up the case from Detective Stevens. He had hit a brick wall and asked for a fresh set of eyes before filing it away. Though, she's not sure how fresh hers are right now, with stagnant tears pooled in the corners that she's struggling to keep from dropping again.

Kate lets the curtain of her hair fall, covering her face, the smudged make-up, the twin tears leaking without her permission. If she looks half as bad as she feels, she's going to be forced into talking about it. She doesn't want to talk about it. She needs to get Lanie out of here.

"Thanks. I'll call you if I have any questions."

"No problem." The legs of the chair scrape against the floor when Lanie rises to get up. Kate glances to her left, stills sees her shoes. Lanie's quiet; she's never quiet. Shit. "Girl, what did you do?" She hisses it, knows.

"What I had to." She finally looks up, stares at her friend, silently begs her to let it go.

"You didn't," she whispers accusingly, furrowed brow, concerned etched all over her face. "Tell me you didn't do something stupid."

"I had to."

"Oh my God, Kate. Where is he?"

"He left." She stands, can't take the heat of her friend's glare combined with the guilt and sorrow weighing on her shoulders. Her muscles are tense with the stress of her grief. "He left," she repeats. It's over.

"Go find him. Don't be an idiot." She's tugging on her elbow and pulling her towards the elevator. She lets Lanie's pull and her own momentum drag her into the box. She grabs the railing for support, presses her face into the wall.

"It's over, Lanie."

"You know Castle's going to talk to her, get this all straightened out, right? It'll all be fine. _You_ know how persuasive he can be." The M.E. is trying to draw a smile out of her, but she thinks all of her smiles left with him. She hurt him so deeply. He was stunned, paralyzed with emotion and trying to grasp for answers that she couldn't give him.

"I didn't tell him why." It wouldn't be fair, would be even harder on him. That's the whole reason she's breaking her own heart, so he doesn't have to.

"What the hell did you tell him?" Her friend pushes the red button on the elevator and it jerks to a stop, makes her stomach lurch. "No. _No._ I know that man, Kate Beckett. He's nothing, if not persistent. He's not going to say _'Oh, you want to break up? Well, okay, sure.' _So, what did you say?"

"That I didn't want him, want to be with him." The sorrow that shuddered through him at those words is a memory that is already haunting her. He nodded slowly, turned, and kept his promise—left her alone. The doorframe at her back was the only thing keeping her from crumbling to the ground.

"So you lied." She's blunt, unapologetic. Sometimes Kate forgets that these people that she loves and that love her—her family—they love Castle too. She can only imagine she looks like death warmed over, the way Lanie's expression softens when she _really_ looks at her. "_Honey_," Lanie coos sympathetically. "You're hurting him. And yourself. This is a little rash, don't you think?"

"I'm not asking him to choose me over his daughter. He'll pick her. He _should_ pick her. I'm just saving him the anxiety."

"That shouldn't even be a choice, Kate. You're two separate parts of his life. He can love you both."

"Lanie, you were there." She's crying again and angrily swipes at her traitorous eyes. "Their relationship would be under constant strain if he's with me. That's not fair to either of them. He's the only grounded parent she has." She shakes her head, unyielding. "I knew that Alexis had reservations about her dad working with me, but I didn't realize she detested me. I should have thought about that before I started this. Leaving him would be easier if we'd never—if we weren't together."

"You know that's not true," Lanie reminds her. "I think Alexis just overreacted. She was surprised." The M.E. sighs and stops her rant when a staticy voice echoes around them asking if everything is okay. Without an explanation, she brusquely informs the speaker that they're just fine, not to send help, and the stairs are in perfect working order. A clicking sound confirms that the message was received loud and clear. "Anyway," she continues on a deep exhale, acts like it's perfectly ordinary to experience a self-imposed detainment in an elevator, "she walked in on us talking about you and _her father_ knocking boots."

Kate snorts, exasperated. "We did not say anything of the sort."

"It was implied," she clarifies with a grin of pride. "_We were together for the first time three and a half weeks ago,_" Lanie imitates (in a voice that sounds nothing like Kate's). "First time for what? Holding hands? Going out for ice cream? The girl ain't dumb, Beckett—she knows what you meant. And that's got to be awkward and embarrassing. Plus, finding out second-hand probably made her a little angry. So, she says some irrational things? And then you go and _do_ some irrational things. You're even."

"I can't blame her. Everything she said was true."

And it is. All of it.

'_You've strung my dad along for years.'_

'_Being around you puts him in constant danger.'_

'_You're going to wind up getting him killed.'_

'_My dad deserves better than what you can give him.'_

Kate presses her fingers hard into her eye sockets and groans. She wills away her headache, though it might make for a welcome distraction, something to keep her mind off of the deep seated ache in her chest.

"Kate. Castle is a grown man and can make big boy decisions. He made his decision a long time ago, and without consulting anyone, I'm sure. Hell, he didn't even consult _you_," she teases. "And you were the one he was claiming in his heart, wanting to claim in his bed."

God, they were so good. The way they made love. She's never been with someone where the emotion has been on equal plane with the physical, and when their bodies moved together it was magnetic, striking, and completely overwhelming on a level she'd never even dreamt of. To her, sex had always been a release, a little bit of fun, a natural progression—she could give up her body when her heart wouldn't cooperate. And it never fully cooperated. But, with Castle, it was a packaged deal; her heart came out to play. And when it thumped wildly as he worked over her body, it wasn't purely for carnal reasons. It was beautiful. Amazing.

And finished.

"It was selfish of me to allow it." Kate smacks at the buttons on the elevator's panel until the gears roar back to life, lifting them back towards where they came from. "I need to get out of here."

"You're running. Fine. Run as fast as you want, but you won't be able to get that man out of your head," Lanie says plaintively with a click of her tongue. "I'm talking to Alexis. I'll straighten your melodramatic mess out if you won't."

"Don't you dare," she warns. "Promise me, Lanie. You talk to _no one_. Leave it alone. The worst is over."

"Fine. But spending the rest of your life wondering 'what if' and missing him will be the worst part. You're just getting started." Lanie steps off of the elevator first, resolute and irritated. "For what it's worth, I still think you're a fool, but if you need me, I'm here."

Esposito walks up carrying two boxes of files and stops in front of the two women. "Were you two," he nods his head towards the elevator, "the ones in there? I've had to make three trips with these heavy-ass boxes. What's going on?"

"Quit whining. And mind your business." He huffs at Lanie, but smiles when she takes the smaller box from him, easing his load.

Kate heads towards her desk, hopes Lanie follows Javi so she can sulk in peace. She can't even appreciate their banter, is envious of it. Never again will that be them, the writer and his muse, the cop and her shadow. Inspiration-less, partner-less, and lover-less. Everything is in shambles. She has to get a grip. A shaky breath spills from her lips. She's going to have to dive into work, her old standby. That, she can do.

"Yo, Beckett?" Kate half-turns, a weak acknowledgement of Esposito. "How's your case going?"

"Dead end." Lanie answers for her.

"Good. Well, not _good_ good. But we could use an extra set of eyes on these financials. You game?"

"Maybe in a little while. I'm going to go over these phone records another time to make sure I didn't overlook anything." She thumbs through the stack of pages on her desk, looks at the top sheet, but can't even make out the numbers through the blur. "Actually, you know what? I've already been over this stuff. So has Stevens. I'll let him know to put it to bed." This is what she needs. A distraction—her friends.

"Hey, are you okay?" Kate sees Lanie opening her mouth to run interference on where this conversation might be going, but she shakes her head, can take care of this.

"Yeah, Espo. I'll be alright." It sounds smooth coming out of her mouth, though she's not sure she believes it, even if she adds the silent '_eventually_' to the end. "Bad day. Trying to get back in the swing of things, ya know?" She attempts a smile, but it falls flat, hurts to try.

He seems uncomfortable, like he wants to help her, but can't. She knows this feeling all too well, how powerless it is. "Well, maybe it's contagious," he adds, then looks guilty like maybe he's betraying a confidence, but continues anyway. "Your boy's been off today, too. Ryan's been in there trying to cheer him up with some outlandish theories about this case. He sucks at it, but Castle's trying to make him think he's cool. Kinda pathetic, really." He smirks on a shrug and shifts the box he's holding in his arms.

"Castle's still here?" Lanie asks, panicked or excited—it's hard to differentiate.

Um, panicked would be the _correct_ reaction here.

"Yeah," Esposito drawls out. "Why wouldn't he be?" He flicks his questioning gaze back and forth between the two women.

"Because I have a prior engagement. I have to run."

She sucks in a breath at his voice, spins his way before she can stop herself. He looks like hell, shirt untucked from his pants, face pale, darkness lining his eyes. This is a train wreck, and she caused them to jump the track, but she can't look away from the ruins.

"Bro—," Esposito protests, "seriously? You're going to leave us with the monotonous stuff? And dinnerless at that?"

"Sorry. I have plans with my mother and Alexis tonight." He glances to his watch, taps the face.

_Oh_. They were supposed to tell them tonight about their relationship, come out of hiding. It was supposed to be momentous, yet another new level of closeness for them. But now…

"Ah cool. Special occasion?"

Kate can hear Lanie sigh at Esposito's question, hates that everything needs to be censored for her.

Castle meets her eyes, then—they're dead, unblinking, angry. "No. Nothing special."

**A/N: And?**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for the feedback and encouragement. Truly works wonders.  
**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. I do like torturing them a bit more than I expected, though.**

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Castle fumbles with the two pizza boxes on his way in the door, manages to stuff the loft keys in his pocket and steady the food before it flips out of his arms. That would be such a nice continuation of his day. He walks to the table and flops the warm cardboard down while he toes off his shoes, kicks them under a chair.

The smell of the pizza is making him nauseated and he's going to have to find a way to excuse himself from this shindig. There's no way he can face his mother and daughter like this; they'll be worried, clingy, and want him to talk, play the crazy patient while they psychoanalyze him. He'd much rather be isolated, let himself wallow in his own pity (he deserves that, right?), and sleep for as long as his body will allow.

"Darling, you're home," his mother clomps into the room, her heels echoing with each step, causing his pounding head to taunt him even more. "Ooh, and with Giovanni's. Maybe that'll cheer Alexis up."

"What's wrong with Alexis?"

"Don't know. She came home and slammed every door she passed through. She didn't tell, so I didn't ask. I assume," she whispers conspiratorially in his direction, "_boy troubles_."

"She doesn't have a boy to have troubles with, Mother." Normally he's the sounding board for each and every one of his daughter's problems, embarrassing or not, but he's _definitely_ not the one to talk her down off of a relationship ledge today. So, he's glad there's no boyfriend. "Wait, she _doesn't,_ does she?"

His mother shrugs and moves around him to grab a bottle of wine, pours a glass. "She's a beautiful young woman. _College_ woman," she corrects, in a teasing tone. "She undoubtedly has boys waiting in line to court her. Takes after her grandmother," she adds.

"Don't curse her." He swipes his hand down his face. As much as he needs a distraction, that isn't what he wants to think about either. "I'd know if she had a boyfriend."

"How would you _know_, Dad?" His daughter starts her question from the second floor of the loft, then begins her decent down the staircase. His mother is right; she definitely looks upset. Her hair is swept back in a loose ponytail, allowing him to plainly see the scowl marring her beautiful face. She's barefoot, but is still wearing scrubs. He didn't even know she was working with Lanie today, is _so_ glad he didn't run into her, that she didn't find him in one of his less-composed moments. "Who's to say I couldn't hide a boy right under your nose."

"You'd better not be hiding boys anywhere," he adds, lightly.

"I'm not," she sighs, irked. "But, _so what_ if I did?"

He doesn't like this line of conversation, with Alexis hurt and snippy and defiant, something obviously bothering her. His head is seriously going to explode—the universe is totally testing him today. He can't read her and he can _always_ read his daughter. Something's definitely eating at her, but she obviously would rather dance around it than talk about it.

Like father, like daughter.

He supposes that he can't expect her to be open and honest if he decides to take his own candor off the table. "I've, um, actually been hiding something from the two of you."

Alexis looks expectant, his mother looks intrigued, and if he looks anything like he feels, _queasy_ would probably be the best descriptor.

"For a few weeks now," he clears his throat, rolls his shoulders, stalls, "I've been seeing Kate."

His mother narrows her eyes (excited, but cautious, maybe?), while Alexis rolls hers (and…_not_ very excited). Huh. He's not so sure what either of those reactions means, but the hardest part has yet to come. He hasn't said any of this aloud yet, had a chance to roll it around on his tongue, feel how heavy it weighs in the air around him when voiced.

"We were dating," he explains, probably a little redundantly. "But we're not now."

"What?" Both redheads question him simultaneously and he feels overwhelmed, again remembers why he didn't want to do this.

"She broke up with you?" Alexis asks the question, cautiously.

Wow. It's another blow to his ego that it's common knowledge that, of course,_ he_ wouldn't have been the one to do the breaking-up.

"That can't be true, Richard," his mother interjects.

" 'Fraid so." He tries for nonchalance, but his voice catches and his emotions trip over his blunder. His eyes are watery again, and he swallows down the thick despair that wants to crawl out, to be soothed by these two women who love him unreservedly. "I don't know why," he responds to the question he can see his mother generating.

"She didn't tell you why?" Alexis asks quietly.

He shakes his head. "No, pumpkin. Sometimes there is no answer," he explains. "I can't make her love me. Lord knows I've tried." A watery smile makes it to his face as he swipes a hand over his daughter's hair, urges her cheek against his.

"She doesn't deserve you, daddy," she mumbles into his neck. "You'll find someone better."

He leans back, meets her eyes. "No such thing, sweetheart. It hurts so much, is so painful because she's special. And I'll always love her." His mother is too quiet, is watching his interaction with Alexis carefully, sympathetically. "Boy, this is depressing, huh? Pizza's getting cold. How about we eat?"

He barely touches his food, pulls his toppings off of his pizza, picks at them, pops a triangle of ham into his mouth when he notices Alexis watching him in concern. When he meets her gaze, she immediately looks back to her plate. She's not eating much either, he observes. He still wonders what's upsetting her; they've been so engrossed in his problem that hers has flown under the radar. He's brought it up a couple of times, but she freezes and clams up. She probably doesn't want to worry him anymore. Hopefully Alexis will confide in his mother, and she can filter it back to him, allowing him to intervene if necessary.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she blurts out, wipes her eyes with her napkin.

"Hey, baby," he soothes. "Having your heart broken is a part of life. We've had this conversation, remember? I'm just going to need you to help me through it, okay?"

"I never wanted you to be hurt." She sniffles and Martha rubs at her back. It's one thing if he's in pain, but he hates that his family is hurting for him.

"Shhh."

Martha eases her chair next to Alexis's and uses gentle words that Castle can't quite make out. Alexis nods, and excuses herself from the table.

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Castle is sitting on the sofa, an untouched glass of wine twirling between his fingers. He can hear the water in the bathtub running upstairs, which he anticipates was Martha's idea for Alexis. She's always been a proponent of a bubble bath—combined with a good book or excellent music—as being the ultimate relaxer.

He feels the cushion dip when his mother parks herself beside him. He can feel her watching him as he stares straight ahead, lost amidst a swirling pool of thoughts. He shuts his eyes against the onslaught of emotion, hating the sympathy he can feel directed his way.

"I'm lonely already. Can that be normal? It's been a _day_, Mother." Damn it if he can't feel the tears prickling against his closed lids.

"It's normal, Richard." Her voice is tender, more soothing than he ever remembers hearing it. When she palms his cheek and her lips press against his forehead, a tiny sob hiccups in his chest. He's not a little boy with a skinned knee. He's a big boy with a broken heart. "You know your old mom's pretty smart, right?" Her hand is cupping his chin, and when he opens his eyes to meet hers, she smiles broadly at him. "And I know that woman loves you, son."

"She doesn't." A spark of hope ignites in his heart, but he snuffs it out quickly. His mother does not mince words, isn't in the business of saying things to make people feel better—she's bold and blunt, says what she means and means what she says. _But_, she wasn't there today—didn't hear Kate effortlessly dismiss everything they've shared.

"Trust me. Dig a little deeper." She nods her head _yes_ to negate him shaking his _no._ "Don't give up, no matter how much it hurts. Something's off here."

"Or maybe my first instinct was right. That she kept remembering a secret because she needed to find a way to let me down gently." His mother moves to speak, probably feed him another line of '_Richard, you know that's not true' _but he doesn't know that, doesn't know anything anymore. Everything he thought of as solid, instinctual, meant-to-be has vanished. "She thought she'd give me a try, what the hell, right? And it didn't work out. It happens. I need to suck it up and get over it."

"It doesn't work like that."

"I'll make it work like that." His mother looks exceedingly concerned, and that's why he didn't want to do this, especially tonight when he's raw and vulnerable and can't even conjure up a believable smile to hide the pain. He squeezes her hand and attempts an upturn of his lips anyway. It doesn't work, but he can tell she appreciates the gesture. "I'm heading to bed. Goodnight, Mother."

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He can't sleep.

Billion thread-count sheets, memory foam, and expertly fluffed pillows have nothing on Kate's bed. He never realized how appealing he would find jersey cotton, a lumpy mattress, and warped pillows. But after only a few sporadic nights, now he can't sleep without these atypical luxuries.

_Or…_

He can't sleep without Kate. Or at least the promise of Kate as his lids rise with the sun. He knows what's coming when he closes his eyes tonight, and though he's not sure how his sleeping nightmares could be any worse than the wakeful one he's lived all day, he can't bear to find out.

Maybe he can write. He reaches across the mattress for his laptop, but thinks better of it. He's been famous for letting his art imitate his life, and this is an instance he doesn't want even his fictional counterpart to suffer through.

He pulls his iPhone out; a good, multi-level game might distract him for a little while. When he slides the phone unlocked, he sees a missed text from Esposito. It's a picture of Ryan, pouty-faced with his head lying on a huge pile of papers. Underneath the picture, Esposito has typed "_Kevin misses you._" Castle does manage to get a genuine chuckle out of that.

But, the boys obviously sense the fissure between him and Kate. The usual message would have read "_Beckett misses you" _with a picture of Kate mock-scowling or holding her hand in front of her face to block the camera. He, actually, has a few of those saved on his phone. Esposito must realize that teasing about Kate is probably too soon, too weird, even if he doesn't understand exactly why.

Castle puffs out a deep breath and rises from the bed, unbuttons his jeans. The change in his pocket jingles with his movements and he fishes it out and piles the coins and his wallet on the nightstand. He reaches in with his other hand and pulls out his keys, tosses them there too.

The odd key on his ring catches his eye. It's been there for a couple of weeks, but he still finds himself fingering it in his pocket, staring at it, changing its position on his keyring.

It's the key to Kate's apartment.

And he needs it gone.

Where it had previously excited him to no end to trying to decipher the message behind being gifted further entry into her life, now it leaves him hollow, weighted, and with this incredible sense that he has something that doesn't belong to him.

He had to get rid of it.

_Tonight. Now._

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He lightly touches his palm to her door, runs his fingers down the flat panels and over the ridges until they find the doorknob. He can remember a few days ago when he pressed into the long line of her back as she hastily tried in vain to get the key into this very lock. His arm was hooked around her waist, and his thumb rucked up her shirt to allow two fingers to dip just below the waistband of her pants. Her hands trembled and she admonished him while he laughed at her, scissored teasingly at the edge of her panties. She craned her neck back to reach his mouth and they made out a little indecently against her door until the elevator dinged to announce an arrival on her floor. He pulled his mouth and hand away, and she managed to get them into the apartment—and barely to the couch—before showing him exactly what his teasing did to her.

He pulls himself out of his own mind and the magnificent memories which will only make his stark reality more difficult to live in. The key is digging into his palm, reminding him why he's here. He unfolds his fingers, sees where the metal has made an impression into his flesh, like its owner has imprinted herself on his life. Fitting.

Castle stands on his toes, slides his thumb along the ledge above her doorframe, feeling for the dip in the wood, the little ridge where she kept this spare key hidden.

She gave it to him a week into their newfound relationship. She had reached up—towel riding high on her thighs—and fetched the key. It was pinched between her fingers as she shyly presented it to him, told him next time he came over unannounced (she pretended to be irritated, but _oh_, _she so wasn't_) he could let himself into her apartment in lieu of interrupting her bath. '_Keep it_,' she had said.

Instead of the hollow space he's expecting, his fingers brush something else and when he tries to pluck at it, it falls from its designated place, clinks to the ground at his feet. Another key. Shiny and new.

Castle goes down on a knee, picks up the key and holds it to its twin. They're not both going to fit back into the carved-out groove. He doesn't want to leave one under the doormat—that's such an obvious place to hide a key; anyone who wandered by could discover it there. He glances around the doorframe, floorboards near the door, feels around for any loose sections that could house it temporarily. Nothing.

There's a thin piece of weather stripping along the bottom of the door, and he thinks maybe he can pry it up a bit and slide the key under her door. He scrapes at the corner, and the rubber peels up a little, but the key still won't fit. He sighs, sits back on his haunches. A real man would just drop by the precinct and hand it to her, stone-faced and unemotional. Definitely _not_ tell her it was burning a hole in his heart to look at it.

That's what he's going to do.

He's beginning his ascension back to his feet, hand against the door for support, when it opens, knocks him off balance and back to his knees. In place of the wood, he's faced with a very familiar set of legs. His eyes climb up her limbs, to the too-short-to-be-opening-her-door-in-it robe, and then to her completely alarmed face.

"Castle?"

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**A/N: Thoughts?**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This chapter is M-rated. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine.  
**

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"Castle?"

"Yeah." Idiot. _Yeah?_ She wasn't questioning who he is; she's wondering why he's crawling around outside of her door.

He stands from his squatting position, nervous and bitter and angry…and why the hell does she have to be so gorgeous? "I'm returning your key. Keys," he corrects. "This one fell out." He looks at the shiny key pressed up against the dull one. His heart thuds knowing that she replaced the one she gave him. Why would she, if he wasn't supposed to keep it long-term?

None of that really matters, though—her motivations of the last few weeks—because she's done with him now. He's got to keep reminding himself of that.

"Oh." She's quiet. And this is a huge mistake. Massive. He needs to never see her again, not make excuses to flick through memories…and get caught in the process. She looks sad and it's probably because he's a dejected mess. But, he doesn't want her pity, damn it. "I thought you were the delivery guy." She holds up her wallet, smiles a little.

He doesn't care. And certainly doesn't want her resplendent smile.

"Here." He thrusts the keys at her. He's tearing up again. No, no, no. "Take them. I need to go." If he were slightly pettier, he'd just toss them at her, but damn if he doesn't throw a pitiful excuse of a temper tantrum. Instead, he defaults to crying like a baby. _Macho._ But he's not going to cry now.

She takes the keys from him, and it's electric when their fingers slide against each other. He pulls back as if burned. He _has_ been burned, and she has the audacity to appear hurt by his jerky withdrawal.

"Don't go yet." He's already facing away, and when he turns back to her, she looks remorseful and guilt-ridden. "I, uh, have something of yours, too." She says it too quickly, too explanatorily, and he realizes it's because she doesn't want to give him any false hope. He wants to tell her that all of his hope is gone, so she can say whatever she pleases—he won't get the wrong impression.

"Is it my heart?" He asks, bitterly. "You gave that back earlier today, Beckett."

She flinches, swallows hard, but doesn't respond. Spinning, she stalks into her apartment towards the vicinity of her bedroom, leaves the door hanging open in her wake.

He's pretty sure it would be a good idea to high tail it out it out of here now. There's nothing she has that he wants back; nothing being returned to his possession is worth this humiliation. But he fears that if he doesn't stay now, he'll be forced to encounter her again, wholly unprepared. And as much as he wants to be in her presence every single day for the rest of his life, that's evidently not in the cards now, and seeing her is too excruciating to keep enduring.

This is it, he realizes. This will most likely be the last time he sees her, interacts with her. Maybe, sometime in this big city, he'll pass her on the street, see her across a crowded room; he'll wave cordially, pretend like it doesn't affect him, like his heart isn't breaking all over again.

He hears someone clear their throat behind him and he sees Kate's elderly neighbor peeking out his cracked door to smile and wave his way, giving him a wrinkled thumbs up with a wink. A blush crawls up Castle's neck when he remembers Kate telling him that her neighbor had pulled her close in the elevator the other day and told her _"I used to have a head of hair like that boyfriend of yours. My wife used to like to run her fingers through, too. You women. He looks like he knows how to treat a woman, if you know what I mean." _Rick _didn't_ know what he meant until Kate reminded him that between peep holes and hearing aids, there isn't a whole lot of privacy in her hallway. They never came up with the exact, um, _interaction_ old Mr. Hinkly witnessed, but they had been handsy enough times before entering her apartment to have the necessity to be embarrassed.

He sighs, waves back, then shuffles over the threshold and clicks the door shut behind him. Mr. Hinkly isn't getting a show today, but Castle doesn't want an audience for his final goodbye either.

He knocks his head back into the closed door, slumps against it, waiting on Kate's return. It smells faintly of burning candles in the room, and he wonders if she had been taking a bath. Her hair wasn't damp, but sometimes she likes to put it up, not let it get wet.

Tonight, she's wearing the robe that he had been adamant about being nothing more than a tease; on the surface it looks fully functional—soft, absorbent terrycloth—then, upon further (lower) inspection, you discover that it barely covers the swell of her rear end, swings at the most supple parts of her thighs. And in those weeks in and out of her apartment and in and out of her bed, it made his stomach flutter and his groin tighten when he saw her in it.

Like now.

As much as he's trying to ignore all of that at the present moment(he did a spectacular job earlier, if he says so himself), thinking about the delicious things she did to him each time she slid the material from her body, has _his_ body betraying him once again.

Castle's hand tightens on her doorknob, but before he can twist it, he feels the energy shift, and she reappears in the room. She's holding…a tee shirt? Oh. His shirt. The light gray one she "stole" because it was soft and comfy and smelled like him (her words).

"I'm sorry," she says. "I was going to wash it before I returned it. But, well—."

"I'm here now? And it'll just be easier to get this over with, so you don't have to see me again," he finishes for her.

"Castle—"

"Hey, no, I completely agree." He lifts his palms in supplication. "But, I don't want that shirt." There is no way he'd ever wear it again, the reminder would conjure up too vivid of memories. "Keep it, trash it, burn it, whatever."

"It's a nice shirt." She fingers the material, almost wistfully.

"So you said. I remember." He's trying to tell her with his eyes that her resistance is futile. He's not taking the damn thing with him. Why is she doing this, making this more difficult? Doesn't she know this is killing him? She says she cares about him (oh, the famous words of champion heartbreakers); if that's true, she needs to be a little less sadistic in her approach to letting him go.

He plucks the shirt from her hands, tosses it in the basket by her door. Watching her toy with it, picturing her in it, is ruining him. He longs for answers.

"Is there someone else, Kate?" Castle doesn't like how the words sound, definitely doesn't really want a reply, but needs one. It's the only thing that makes any sense in his mind right now, and images of her slipping off—and slipping on—another man's clothes are blinking in his mind and have his insides roiling spitefully.

"_What?"_

"Another man. Is that why we're not doing this anymore?"

"Jesus, is that what you really think?" She's angry. Good. Because so is he.

"Maybe. Because you won't give me a clue as to what I did wrong."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Castle. I told you that."

"That's a line of bullshit, Kate."

"You need to go." She reaches around him for the door knob, but he shifts to stand in front of it.

"Please tell me," he pleads, releasing some of the fury in his tone.

"I can't."

"What does that even mean? You can't." He uses air quotes to mock her words, his gestures sharp and jerky. "If it's because you don't want to hurt my feelings, it's a little late for that."

"I'm not doing this." A step backwards is halted by his hand on her wrist. He doesn't mean to touch her, feels out of line, but can't help it.

"Was I too clingy—spent too much time here? I can stop." His tone softens and he feels pathetic, begging her like this, but his words aren't governable any longer; he can't shut them off. "I've never been like this in a relationship, Kate. I'll let you decide how much time we spend together. I can back off."

"It's not that, Rick." She shakes her head, tugs on her wrist, but he's not letting go. "You were—no, no, I don't want to talk about this. I can't."

"Was it the sex? Not good enough?" He lets go of her wrist, slides his palm to her thigh, tugs her towards him. His brain is screaming that this isn't a great idea. Despite her gasp, she concedes. Her eyes are closed, but her body is pressed limply against his. She's not fighting him, but he can see in her face that she's fighting something. "I asked you to tell me what you liked. You said I was doing everything perfectly."

"You _know_ it's not that."

"I don't know anything!" He's loud and he shocks himself a little as he kicks back against her door and the echo of it reverberates around the room. Ah, so Mr. Hinkly might get a show tonight after all. Not the fun kind.

Her cheeks are wet; it's obvious that his little outburst scared her. He wants to apologize, but what little pride he has left won't allow it. Before he can war with himself anymore, her mouth is on his, her own apologies rasping against his teeth. He groans and spins them, crashes her back into the hard surface he was just crowded against. It's too familiar, too good. Apologies and kisses and doors. But, this doesn't feel new and optimistic. She's telling him that he needs to leave against his tongue, and the unfair game she's playing—plus, the way his body doesn't second guess a reaction to it—is making him livid again.

He seizes her hips in his hands, snakes his fingers around to her ass, pulls her up to slide a knee between her legs. She bites down on his lip, hard and satisfying, the lick of pain spiking his arousal.

"You're bare under here," he notices aloud, fingers skimming the crease of her thigh, where her panties would normally settle. "And you were going to answer the door like this?" He grumbles the complaint into her mouth. "A little extra tip for the delivery boy?"

She strikes his chest forcefully. "Don't be a jerk." She pushes herself away, slides down his leg, and tries to get her footing. But he pulls her back to him, rocks her against his thigh. Her instincts take over as she moves quicker against the rough denim. He can see arousal clouding her eyes—likes the implication—but there's more clarity there, too, a sense of the fire they're playing with.

"Any man in his right mind, who saw you in this—," he fingers the terrycloth for a moment before sliding his palm high on her inner thigh, "—would want to touch you. Make you his. Right here against your door."

"God, Castle. We shouldn't—"

"We should." The distance is a short one for his fingers to reach their destination. He lowers his thigh enough to inch his hand between his leg and her undulant body, his digits slicking inside her easily.

Sexy hums and moans and whimpers that are coming from her lips are going to be his undoing. How is he supposed to live without this, her? When her spine stiffens and arms go slack around his shoulders, he knows she's close, has to wrap an arm fully around her back to steady her. A solid press of his thumb has her pulsing around his curling fingers and collapsing against his chest.

"Do you come that fast with every man you're with?" He bites down on her neck and feels her clench down on his digits even harder. He pumps through the tightness, hard jerks against her.

"There's no one else, Castle. No, no," she's keening into his shoulder, still throwing her hips against his hand.

"Then why are you doing this to us?" He slides the zipper on her duster down, pulls it to the side to latch his mouth onto her nipple.

"Castle, don't," she breaths out, determinedly enough to make him stay his ministrations.

He rises to meet her eyes, but they're still screwed shut, head rocking side to side against her door. He pulls his hand from beneath her robe, swipes his damp fingers along her thigh. He tries to straighten his posture, but one of her hands is pinned tightly around his neck, the other fisted in his shirt, and he can't fully pull away. "Don't what, Kate?"

"I don't know, I don't know," she cries, slides her hands to the front of his pants and begins undoing them. His lids slam shut when she reaches inside the slackened material to stroke him. "We can't do this." Contradicting herself, she coils her warm palm around his hot flesh.

"Then you need to stop," he spits venomously, gripping her forearms forcefully. "You need to let me go. Or don't. You can't have both." He means both literally and figuratively—she can't keep him hanging by a thread like this.

"I'm not sure how to let you go, Castle. I'm trying." She's crying and panting and he's an emotional basket-case because of everything they're doing and not doing.

He releases her arms with a stuttering sigh, and moves to fasten his jeans. But, her hands are shooing his out of the way as she tugs the denim and boxers lower on his hips and resumes her caresses, rough and too stimulating. "Finish, Castle," she prompts.

Oh. That's what this is? What, a pity hand job? One last good time?

No. _No._ "If I finish," he growls, "it's going to be inside you." His teeth scrape against the column of her throat as he makes his way to her mouth. He sinks his tongue past her lips and she sucks it into her mouth, slanting to take him deeper.

He raises her robe, bunches his own shirt up his chest, until their bare stomachs touch, her hands trapped between them. "Tell me to stop, Kate," he beseeches, waiting for her inevitable withdrawal.

"No." It's barely audible, but reverberates deafeningly in his ears. The slow grind against him is all he needs to take her knee in hand and roughly pull it to his waist, opening her up to him. He pushes into her fiercely, shudders against the incredible feel of sinking into her. She bellows deeply at the sharp intrusion and claws at his shoulders, climbing against his body.

This should be fast and furious, should punish her for saying she doesn't want him, but opposing that with her every touch and sigh and, _oh_, movement against him.

He slides her further up the door until her other leg wraps around him instinctively, until he's her only support. When his forehead drops to hers, she sniffles, smooths her fingers down his cheek, lets them linger there.

"I'm not sorry for loving you, Kate."

"Move." Her heels dig into him, spurring him on. She's trying to disregard the intimacy he's lending to the moment. He pulls out of her slowly, then pushes back into her, rattling the solid door.

"You can't ignore this," he reminds, with a strong rock against her. She doesn't want him to talk so she takes his mouth, uses her tongue to blanket his voice. That's fine. He'll kiss her; he can show her what they have that way too. He sandwiches her tightly between him and the wood at her back, uses a newly freed hand to clutch her hair, tilt her head, and dominate the intensity of their kiss.

She hums into his mouth, sways into him, groans in frustration when she can't get leverage. He laughs into her neck, sucks that spot that makes her crazy, and she grumbles and bucks against him. Giving into her silent demand, he stills her, slides his palms beneath her thighs and gives her a strong press of his hips. A sobbing huff of pleasure gurgles up from her throat and it only serves to spur him on. His knees are protesting when she straightens sharply—then wilts with desire—sagging heavily with her orgasm.

A quick knock on the door—a bit of a tune in its cadence—has her dropping a leg to the floor. He's almost there, almost there, and out of want, or misguided need for a finale, or awesome kindness, she bounces on the ball of her foot, aiding in the breathtaking sensations that are overcoming him. "Shhh," she breathes into his mouth as his rhythm falters and he's so close—and he thoroughly enjoys that she knows this. She swallows his moan when he lurches against her, pitching his hips messily until he spasms inside her.

"That was incredible."

"That—that was a mistake," she pants as she slides down his body. She's combing her fingers through her hair, zipping her robe, and futilely tugging at the hem to give it more length.

"I'm finding it hard to decipher whether there's any truth in your lies, Kate."

Her eyes flash to his, a warning that he ignores while he tucks back into his jeans and gets himself presentable before gesturing for her to open the door.

A pimply faced teen is holding a Giovanni's pizza, and Castle can't help but grin. She knew that was their planned dinner—pre day-from-hell—and subconsciously or not, she added some sentimentality by ordering the same without him.

Her body just told him that it still wanted him. And this little tidbit of romanticism tells him that she misses him. So, he has to figure out what the hell is going on.

He's not giving up this time.

Kate has the decency to appear embarrassed, and he has the decorum to not say '_I told you so'_ as the boy at the door eyes her head-to-toe, lingering at all the pubescent points of interest.

Castle clears his throat menacingly and the young deliverer thrusts the pizza out, willing someone to grab it, red heat climbing up his face. _Yeah, kid, eyes off._

Beckett, with shaky hands, is fishing through her wallet and finally pulls the right bills out, slides them across the box as she grabs the corners of it and tells him to keep the change.

While her hands are full of pizza, Castle takes the opportunity to lay his mouth on hers, a quick pull of lips. "This isn't over," he whispers before squeezing between the cardboard and the doorframe. "If you hurry, I'll hold the elevator for you," he offers as he backs down the hallway, pointing to the young man, who looks scared but acquiescing. The teen thanks Kate, and scurries towards him.

Kate is still dazed, he can tell, when she leans half out of her apartment, watching him. He waves through the closing panels and calls out to her. "I'll see you tomorrow."

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**A/N: Thanks.  
**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks to Jessie for making me believe I could do this, helped me chip away at my wall of blockage. Thanks to everyone else who is sticking around. **

**P.S. The morgue is in the precinct. I don't care if it's not-in this story it is. Now you know. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine.  
**

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"_I'll see you tomorrow."_

"_I'll see you tomorrow."_

"_I'll see you tomorrow."_

Castle's simple statement replays over and over in Kate's mind as she tries to decipher the implication behind his tone and inflection, the wry smile that the words sprung forth from. Though trying to figure out Castle's motivations is nearly always a losing battle, one she doesn't have the energy to partake in at the moment.

Elbows on the desktop, she drops her face into her hands, groans quietly in frustration. How could she be _so_ imprudent? She had sex with him, asked for it, wanted it so badly, spurred him on…and right against her front door, hard and clothed and desperate.

And it was wonderful.

And it was _stupid_.

As she's often accustomed to when thoughts of him are involved, arousal coils in her gut, winds itself lower and lower, lands heavily in her belly. If she doesn't distract herself now, she'll get worked up until the vortex of want is so tight it can only be unwound by him. And he's spent weeks finding the best possible ways to unfurl the accumulation of tension and frustration he helped to originate years ago. Now she can't even go a full day without wanting his thick fingers, and tongue, and-

And, no _no_, they are not doing this anymore. It was a moment of weakness on her part, and it's over and done with, a mistake to be learned from. Moral of the story: Being in the same room as Castle will inevitably result in conflict, combat, or copulation.

It doesn't help that she wore his damn tee shirt to bed last night, woke in the middle of the night smelling of him, the soft cotton soaking into her skin, and still able to feel the heft of him between her thighs. As her own hand skittered down her chest and past her stomach, she felt empty, hollowed out; the coolness of the sheets beside her seemed magnified as she rolled over to burrow into an unoccupied pillow.

She crosses her legs to alleviate the ache, cracks her knee on the underside of her desk and curses under her breath.

A glance at her watches shows the time to be eleven-thirty a.m. '_Tomorrow_' is too broad of a timeframe for her to be lazing hypnotized by the slow-spinning hands on her watch. If he were planning on coming to the precinct, he would have been here by now. Right?

Okay, so, maybe he's had time to rethink. Realize that it's best to do this as a clean break; no need to muddle it up further with emotions and urges. Oh, who is she kidding? His "_this isn't over_" didn't leave a lot of room for interpretation.

He's not letting go.

She shoves down the instinctual brightness that blooms at the thought, the knowing that if the circumstances were different, this would be _it_ for him. He was already it for her.

She _needs _him to let go.

The elevator pings, announcing an arrival, and she instantly tenses, contemplates hiding under her desk. She watches as two uniforms step out, whooshes out a sigh of relief, and relaxes back into the chair.

"Who are you waiting on?"

She whirls around and faces her smug-looking friend. "Geez, Lanie, you nearly scared me to death," she admonishes.

Lanie shrugs, unapologetic. "Job security."

The M.E. spins a chair from behind her and drops into it, grabs the corner of the desk to roll a little closer. She folds her arms over her chest and eyes her. Kate shifts under the scrutiny.

Damn if her friend isn't smirking at her like she knows something. Or maybe it's some voodoo reverse-psychology where Lanie just _thinks_ she can coax her into leaking something. "Beckett, you expecting someone?"

Well, she's not playing along. "No." How the hell can a one syllable word come out long, shaky, and in question form?

"The way you were fixating your attention on your watch and that elevator, it doesn't look like a _no._"

"Stop fishing. I'm not biting."

"Okay, so let's pretend that you're sitting here trying too damn hard to look like you're_ not _waiting on your boy to waltz off of that elevator. Hypothetically, of course."

"Of course," Kate sighs, caught.

"So, how did you even know that he's here? Have you already talked to him this morning?" She leans in, chin-on-fist, completely invested on waiting for her answer.

"He's here?"

"Oh, come on, Kate—"

"No, I didn't know. Wait, are you sure he's here?"

"Uh huh. I passed him coming into the morgue." Kate startles. "Don't worry. I kept my mouth shut. Only waved."

"Thanks?"

"He, uh, didn't look so…desolate."

"Huh."

"So, you don't know anything about his change in demeanor?"

"I haven't seen Castle today, Lanie."

"That's not what I asked," she reminds. "You're not as slick as you think you are."

"Shut up." She's fighting a losing battle here.

"Spill."

She pauses, deliberates on concocting some lame, elaborate story. But, Lanie's not going to buy it; it'll just be a waste of breath—something she seems a little short of lately anyway. "I slept with him," she groans quietly. "Last night. Well, there wasn't any sleeping involved." The words dance off of her tongue in quick succession.

"Was it good?" Off of Kate's look. "Hey, you spared me _every_ detail yesterday. I know nothing. Friends are supposed to know all the juicy tidbits. You're cramping my style."

"It's always good," Kate admits begrudgingly, looking anywhere but at Lanie.

"Ah, yes, see, doesn't spilling that make it a little better? Feel free to unburden yourself, baby," she hints with a sly chuckle. "Tell mamma the details. In my experience, make-up sex?" She pauses, either for dramatic effect or because she's flashing back on an example. "Always the bomb."

"We didn't make up."

"Oooh, angry sex, then?"

"I am _not_ talking about this. Especially not here." Kate looks around, eyes the people milling about. There's no urgency; it's a surprisingly slow day, one in which ears and eyes are usually notably open. No one looks as if they're paying them any attention, but better safe than sorry.

"Lunch is on me, then."

"I'm not hungry." Though she _is_, really. She ate one bite of her pizza last night before her stomach said "_oh no, you don't_" and she shoved the box in her fridge. She hasn't even attempted food since.

"Too bad. Let's go." She tugs on her arm, and Kate willingly stands from the chair and follows.

They wait as the elevator creaks to a stop, announces its arrival. They separate as the panels open, allowing any passengers a clear path between them.

As luck would have it, the first time in hours that she's not expecting Castle, she _gets_ Castle. He's not watching where he's going; he's mumbling something to himself as he nearly walks into her.

"Ah, sorry." He looks up then, startles when they're face-to-face, then steps back into the elevator.

She wants to reach in, push the button to close the doors and pray he's not quick enough to stop them. Before she can make her fantasy a reality, Lanie is shoving her into the box and stepping in behind her. Then _she_ pushes the button before anyone else can swing in with them, and that totally wasn't how this was supposed to go.

"Hi," he breathes. He waves his fingers at Lanie, but doesn't leave Kate's eyes. His are dark and steady, unwavering, and he's too far into her personal space, his hand hovering near her hip, as if shielding her from the metal railing at her back.

She thinks Castle is inching _even_ closer, can feel his heat seeping into her side. Or just wants to feel it, maybe, remembers what a furnace he is, how he brands his flesh into hers, naked and hot.

She's feeling claustrophobic, even as the floors tick down, lights indicating the proximity of their destination.

Lanie is eyeing the emergency stop button again.

"Don't even think about it."

"What?" Castle guiltily slides a foot away from her, drops his arm to his side. "I wouldn't do anything with company," he whispers, head tilted too close to her. If she twisted her neck _just so,_ his lips would- No. _No._

She nudges him away with her elbow. "Not you."

"Oh." He takes that as some kind of permission to press into her side again, and Jesus, that wasn't a good idea either. They're squeezed into the corner of the elevator, she and Castle, and Lanie is just watching them, with this investigative amusement coloring her features.

When the panels open, she rushes out into the precinct's lobby, is tempted to just keep going out the front doors, but she's waiting on Lanie. Lunch with Lanie. Yes. Far, far away from Castle.

"Are you leaving?" He's asking Lanie, and Kate doesn't like this. She doesn't want them conversing, in cahoots. That was a scary prospect _before_ there was sex, and breaking up, and more sex, and Alexis for them to talk about.

"Yes, we're leaving," she responds, waving Lanie towards her.

"Lunch," the M.E. explains, shoots Castle an apologetic glance.

"Ah." He turns away from Lanie and cants towards _her_ as if he is going to touch, but thinks better of it. "Can we…talk later?"

"No."

He sinks his teeth into his lip and nods, and oh no, not _that_ face. His eyes are a bit shiny and he looks disappointed and pitiful, and she just wants to put her mouth on him everywhere _everywhere_ until that look slithers away.

She needs separation and she needs it _now_.

"You wanna come to lunch with us?" _What the hell, Lanie?_ No. Her best friend is a traitor and tyrant and is playing a dangerous game. Because if they think that she's going to agree to-

"I, uh, actually already have lunch plans," stumbles out of his mouth.

_Oh._

That's what she wanted right? Him to move on?

She's not prepared. This is the type of thing she knew would be possible, but didn't want to think about. Notions that maybe one day, light-years away, she would see a picture of him arm-in-arm with someone, or an engagement announcement, or a new book dedicated to a set of unfamiliar initials; she could crumble then, in this undeterminable future—the one so far away in her head that she's chosen to shut those thoughts down as they approach. But now, _now_ she's going to freaking cry, right here with detectives and officers and criminals brushing past her; and her best friend and her—whatever he is—witnessing the whole breakdown.

"Come on, Lanie." She spins and hunts down the quickest path to the exit, takes deep breaths through her nose, quick exhales out her clenched teeth, thinks about anything but the heaviness in her chest, tears stinging her eyes.

"I could cancel," he offers to their retreating backs.

"Don't bother," Lanie calls over her shoulder as she squeezes Kate's forearm in some gesture of sympathy that she doesn't want, regardless of whether she needs it or not. "Enjoy your date."

That makes Kate cringe. She has no right to be angry, no reason to ask him _not_ to find someone else, court them, take them into his bed, love them. But, that doesn't make it hurt any less.

"Wait—you thought—you _both _ thought…," he lags off in a puff of half-laughter, his face tinged with surprise. "I can invite her with us. It's-"

Lanie stalks back to him before Kate even has time to realize that she's not by her side any longer. Kate watches as she pokes a finger into his chest and Castle winces at the contact. "Richard Castle, you are an arrogant son of a—"

"Alexis," he divulges swiftly. "My lunch plans. With _Alexis_."

Kate's shoulders sag in relief as she gulps in air that's no longer stale, but her head throbs at the girl's name. The daughter who just wants to protect her father, but has, in turn, forced Kate to give up the happiness that she's been grasping at for so long and finally found. It's such a conundrum; one that Kate is still glad Castle isn't privy to.

He's smiling at her, a small tentative one, one with _forgive me?_ attached because he knows exactly what she was thinking and how it affected her, damn it. She schools her expression, peeks at her watch, plucks invisible lint from her blouse-feigns nonchalance (pretty terribly, the way his features keep softening as he watches her), but can't break their gaze; it's magnetic.

"Of course. Alexis," Lanie says confidently, mercifully breaking the little spell she and Castle had found themselves under. _Wait_, Lanie looks devious, conniving, and a slice of panic cuts through Kate. "Yes. Invite Alexis to come along."

**00000000000000000000**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Long time, no story. My apologies. Quick explanation. I found out I'm pregnant. First baby. Distracting enough, huh? Well, I'm having some problems, too. Doesn't make for a whole lot of writing mood or time. I'm getting some tests back tomorrow that may let me know if everything's going to be okay or not going forward. I would appreciate any thoughts or prayers you're willing to donate my way. **

**This chapter is a little longer in apology. :-)  
**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.  
**

**00000000000000000000**

"I ought to kill you." They're the first words Kate has uttered since leaving the precinct, crawling into Lanie's passenger seat, and being driven to what is inevitably going to be the most awkward meal of her life.

"You won't, though," Lanie says around an ice cube that she's just slurped from her glass of water. She rolls it to the side of her mouth, lets it rest in the hollow of her cheek as she continues. "Who else is going to fix it when you're being an idiot?"

"Inviting Castle and Alexis to lunch isn't going to _fix_ anything."

"Might." Lanie says, simply, with a shrug. "When Castle finds out why you're shunning him, you and Alexis are both in for it. You'll be forced to stop this stupid game you're playing."

"Oh, no you don't. First off, this is not a game. Secondly, Castle is _not_ finding anything out. I thought I made this clear, Lanie. You do not say a word to him." She's pointing a finger at Lanie, trying to give her most stern face, but her friend is completely ignoring her, not intimidated in the least.

The door chimes, signaling an entrance into the diner. Lanie's little wave signifies that their party has arrived. Kate shifts down in the booth to make room for Lanie to come sit next to her. They've already discussed this. But, her friend is mirroring her, gliding further towards the window on the opposite side of the booth.

Kate glares at her and panic wells in her chest. This is not good. There is no way this can go well. Oh my God, why the hell is she even still here? She needs to escape. As she begins her exiting slide along the sticky vinyl seat, she slams into a body. His body.

He gives an '_oof _' and staggers back to his feet. "Bathroom?"

"Um," she pauses, but it's not for dramatic effect. It's because she doesn't know what she's doing. Alexis is poised next to Lanie, her fiery red hair peeking out from the top of the menu that she's already holding in front of her face.

Castle and Lanie are both staring at her.

There's _no way_ she can leave the three of them here alone. A series of embarrassing, bad, and worst case scenarios scan through her mind. At least if she's _here_, she can control the conversation, she tells herself. "No, I'm good. I just didn't want to sit by the window."

"Oh. Okay." He smiles before slithering in, looking out the window then back at her, all while squirming out of his jacket that it's too damn hot for anyway. God, he looks delicious, green tee shirt, twinkling eyes. He looks hopeful.

Well, he shouldn't.

Add _that_ to the list of why this was an atrocious idea.

She slips back into the booth, and it's too tight. He's tucked his jacket by the wall and scooted further towards the center of the seat, leaving their thighs and shoulders pushed together.

And, of course, there are only three menus. Lanie probably stuffed one under the table so now she and Castle are forced to share. Her personal space is non-existent; his arm stretches along the back of the booth, so he's less impeded as he leans in to peruse the lunch options with her.

Alexis lowers her menu and is watching them. Kate squirms a little, shifts to her left, but she's already got a leg hanging out of the booth. When the waitress comes back to bring Alexis and Castle ice waters, Kate's foot nearly trips her, so she has to move back in, wedge her shoulder into Castle's side. He's warm; this heat he emits has got to be the Eighth Wonder of the World.

Okay. Yeah. Not thinking about Castle and warm bodies.

"You smell good," he says at her hair and she whips around intending to admonish him, but his lips are _right there_, a breath away from her own. Her eyes trail down to them and his tongue peeks through the seam of his mouth, then slides back in. She wants to chase it with her own.

"What is everyone having?" Lanie lowers her menu, then says _'Shit'_ under her breath when she sees them jerk apart. Kate clears her throat. Jesus, they nearly jumped each other in front of his daughter. And Lanie. Exactly why being near him isn't a good idea. Hands, mouths, and all sorts of other body parts always find a way to connect. So not good.

She dares a glance at Alexis, who is staring at Castle, dissecting him as if he were a science experiment.

"I think I want breakfast," Castle decides, sliding his finger to a picture of a Belgium waffle with strawberries and whipped cream topping.

"It's _lunch_ time," Lanie protests.

"So? Breakfast is the most essential meal of the day. Who cares _when_ you eat it?" He grins, and Lanie just shakes her head at him.

"Yeah, dad cooks breakfast for dinner at least once a week. Kinda like a tradition he's started." Alexis finally speaks, seems surprised that she has. But she keeps going. "I went camping with some friends last week, so we missed it," she tells Lanie, glances apologetically at her dad, but then winks at him before continuing. "Looks like we'll have to start a different tradition."

"I made Kate eat my famous French toast a night last week. My tradition is alive and well, _thankyouverymuch_."

"He puts jelly on it, not syrup," Kate explains to Lanie. She had thought it was weird, but it really_ is _yummy. He made her admit that to him, tell him that he was right and call him a master chef. She did with a little nudging (and Castle holding her plate hostage). Even her deep laugh and eye roll didn't keep a smug smile from overtaking his face. _'I really do like the way it tastes,'_ she had added before licking at his grin, sampling the sweetness of his mouth. He growled into hers before making love to her, hot and quick against her kitchen counter.

She can feel the heat of a flush creeping up her neck, and they're all staring at her now, Castle knowingly, his fingertips barely grazing her shoulder. He might as well have his hands roaming all over her body for the shiver that runs through her at his touch.

She looks at Lanie, who is staring at Alexis.

And Alexis is staring right back at Kate.

Oh.

And her dad's hand.

Kate twitches her shoulder, obviously shrugging Castle off. He jerks his arm back into his own lap, and she doesn't have to see him to picture the hurt expression he's wearing.

Has she mentioned that this lunch was a bad idea?

"I definitely think we should start a different tradition," Alexis says, tone too calm and even, the words evidently meant for Castle's ears, though she never releases Kate's gaze.

"I'm sorry," Kate mutters, and she's not sure who her words are meant for.

"What's going on?" Castle has shifted so that his back is to the window and he's facing all of them; she can feel his eyes boring into her. Guilt melts down Alexis's face, erasing the coldness she had been wearing there.

Kate looks at him and shakes her head, hopes he lets it all go, though she can see it's futile. He's glancing back and forth between her and Alexis and his eyes flash with something she's never seen behind them before. "No," he says fervently. "Please tell me that what I'm thinking is so far off-base. Tell me _right this second_ that I'm crazy," he seethes.

No one says anything, which is the loudest admission of all.

Lanie is sharing her pitiful expression around the table and Kate just wants to shout 'I told you so' at the top of her lungs. This is exactly what she didn't want to happen.

He knows. Enough.

"So, what, you didn't approve of our relationship and you tell her that?" Kate has never heard this deep anger-laced voice aimed towards his daughter before. "How did you even find out? Did you tell her?" He turns to face Kate, accusation in his tone. "I thought we agreed to do it together."

"Daddy—"

"Castle—"

All three women at the table move to speak at the same time. He needs to calm down. His breaths are harsh and shallow, eyes darkened with betrayal and hurt.

"No. You know what, I don't want to know." He slams his water glass down on the table, the liquid and ice sloshing over the side. "I know enough. I know that you," he points to Alexis, "reiterate over and over that you want me to be happy. But you don't really, do you?"

The girl takes a breath to speak, but he continues.

"And you," he faces Kate, but is looking through her, "you don't care about me. What a relief that you had such a convenient excuse to end things, huh? Though it may have been amusing to see what else you would have come up with if my daughter hadn't come to your rescue."

"Rick, please—" He's hurting her with his words. The words that have saved her so many times, the words that made her love him, be enraptured before she ever laid eyes on him; those words are breaking her heart right now.

Her feet are lifting her from the booth before she even knows where she's going. She bumps into their waitress as she scrambles to her feet and jets towards the restroom, slamming her palms into the door, relieved when it pushes in, unoccupied.

She leans against the wall, tears welling in her eyes, cobwebs of grief stealing her breath and choking down the sobs as she tries to let them loose.

This was a horrible idea.

**00000000000000000000**

She hears the bathroom door creak open, and she should have had the forethought to lock the damn thing after slamming through it. When the door clicks shut, but no sound of surprise or apology is uttered, she knows who it is.

"Lanie, now do you understand why I didn't want to do this? Did you see his face? I hurt him. Again."

"I think we both did."

_Not _Lanie.

She turns around to face the girl. "Alexis," she breathes out. She swipes at her eyes, pulls herself together. "I should go." More raw emotions and confrontations right now won't be pretty. She starts towards the door. Alexis doesn't move. But when she gets to the handle, the girl stops her with a question.

"Do you love him?"

Kate takes a stuttering breath. There are a lot of questions that she may have skirted, side-stepped, had to formulate a response for. But, not this one. This is the easiest one of all.

"Yes." Voice strong, she acknowledges to his daughter the thing she hasn't said to the man himself. And she probably won't have that chance. "More than I want to."

"Because of me." It's not a question.

"Because of you." Kate agrees, no malice in her words. "You're his world. I don't want to affect that." Kate thinks about leaving it at that. It's the only explanation she really has. But, Alexis sighs deeply, then inhales, as if to speak, but nothing comes out. Kate takes a few strides backwards and lifts herself up onto the counter to the left of the sink, knocking her shoulder against the paper towel dispenser. "One of those days," she pokes fun at herself with a slight grin and lift of her eyebrows when Alexis faces her.

Surprisingly, the redhead smiles back, then joins her, jumping onto the other end of the counter and swinging her legs.

"I didn't like Gina," she admits, head down, voice low. "Heck, I didn't like my mom much either."

Kate doesn't know what to say to that, if she's expected to say anything.

"I've never seen him in love," she starts. "I mean, I guess he probably loved my mom and Gina, right?"

Kate hums, but she's not sure whether it signifies agreement, opposition, or just plain surprise at the conversation. "I wouldn't think your dad would get married if he wasn't in love."

"Maybe. But, it wasn't like it is with you."

Kate can feel her heart thumping quickly, her blood rushing in her fingertips where they curl against the countertop tightly. "I'm afraid to ask what you mean by that."

Alexis shrugs. "Just that my dad married my mom because she was pregnant with me. He denies that, but mom's the one who told me. She said that even when she cheated on him, he said he'd stay with her _for me_. He doesn't know I know all of this, so don't say anything."

"I won't," Kate agrees, still a little shell-shocked by how civil and open and meaningful this conversation is.

"And then there's Gina." Kate watches Alexis shake her head. Yeah, Gina hits a sore spot with her also, but she's not telling the girl that. Way too much information for this session. "Again, dad will deny this, but he totally married Gina to give me the "real mom" experience. I was young, but I wasn't stupid. Well, Gina didn't want a kid. She didn't want my dad either. She wanted his alter ego." She sighs heavily, pushes her red hair behind her ears and continues. "They fought _all the time_. About anything and everything. Dad thought they had kept that a secret. He didn't get any acting genes from Gram, and Gina didn't even try to fake the happiness. I was glad when they didn't work." She huffs at her own words. "That makes me sound like a monster."

"It doesn't. You didn't think your dad was happy—you just wanted that for him." She clears her throat and inhales deeply in preparation for the next part. "Same reason you don't want him with me?"

Alexis laughs. "That's um…no, not quite." The girl bends her knee and pulls it up onto the counter so she can sit sideways to fully face Kate. "I kind of lost the moral of my story somewhere, I think." She smiles wryly, self-depreciated, so different from the young woman from a few days ago who seemed disgusted to be in Kate's presence. "You have so much power over my dad."

"I don't want power." God, she doesn't. She's never felt like she's found her equivalent before she ever met Castle, even before they were in a relationship. He pushes when she pulls. He's the Yin to her Yang. She says black and he says white. And in the end…it always turns out perfectly. He knows how to push her buttons (oh, does he) and she knows what gets under his skin. But, they always find their way back to one another. On equal footing.

"You may not want it, but you've got it. He's so madly in love with you, that you could destroy him in a heartbeat."

"And he could destroy me."

Alexis is silent at that for long moments.

"Well, what about the thing with your mom's case? He's been obsessed with it, Kate. I've heard him talking to Gram. He'd rather die than let anything happen to you." The girl takes a deep, stuttering breath, nearly a sob. "I don't want anything to happen to you either, Kate. But he's my _dad_."

"I had _no_ clue what he was doing…all the investigating and the secrets. He kept that from me; otherwise, I would have put an immediate stop to it. If anything happened to your dad…." Kate's thoughts trail off with a shake of her head.

She feels like she understands exactly where Alexis is coming from now. When he works with her at the precinct, she gets to watch him, protect him, and assure that he's safe. When she found out he was looking into her mom's case, she felt completely powerless, knew that there was no one there to shield him from danger. That's how Alexis must feel when she watches him walk out the door every single day, not knowing if she'll see him walk back in.

"What about now? You guys are back on cases. There's no way you can keep him away from your mom's case if you find something. You _know_ how he is." Alexis is still keeping her tone light, despite the seriousness of what they're talking about. She's really trying here. And Kate appreciates it.

"Alexis," she pauses, is looking forward to telling her what she obviously doesn't know yet, "I'm not working on my mom's case anymore. Therefore, neither is your dad."

"What do you mean you're not working on it anymore? Did you find something out?"

Kate shrugs. "Not really. If it solves itself one day, or if someone else stumbles upon something and wants to see it through, I won't say that I wouldn't be happy to get some closure on it, but I'm done with it."

"I don't understand."

"You sound like your dad. He even made that face." Kate smiles at the shell-shocked look crossing the young Castle's features. "I'm done with it. I almost lost everything I care about because of it. I almost—no, I _did_ lose myself in it. It took nearly dying for me to get my priorities straight. Well, even then I wasn't ready. It took your dad to set my priorities straight."

"And my dad was one of them?" Kate is ashamed that Alexis seems genuinely surprised by this.

"Top of the list."

"And you are willing to give him up for me?"

There are two quick raps on the door before it's pushed open slowly. Castle peeks his head around the door and something like surprise flashes in his eyes at seeing them sitting on the counter in a public bathroom. Perhaps he was expecting something a little less civil.

Frankly, Kate's not sure what to expect of his seeking them (Her? Alexis? Both of them?) out.

"May I come in?" Well, he doesn't appear as angry as he did at the table. But, he's looking at Alexis, hasn't yet met Kate's gaze.

"_Ladies'_ room, Dad," Alexis points out, hesitant teasing in her voice.

He smiles at that, and Kate's pretty sure she can hear the relieved breath the girl releases. "Yes, a room with my favorite ladies in it. I'm coming in," he says with a decisive nod that holds less confidence and flare than Richard Castle normally carries into a room, but he enters regardless. Kate can't help but stutter out a relieved chuckle. His eyes reach hers and there's apology warring with residual disappointment there.

Alexis jumps down from the counter and hugs her father tightly. She's mumbling what Kate assumes are apologies into his neck as he cradles the back of her head with his large palm. With a slow blink, he meets Kate's eyes and huffs out a heavy breath into his daughter's hair. Alexis pulls back with a last squeeze and looks expectantly at Kate, with an intention that she can't decipher.

"Dad, is Lanie still here?"

Castle looks a little sheepish and Kate takes that to assume that Lanie finally got a chance to say her piece after she and Alexis left the table. She's not so sure she wants to know exactly what that involved. But, she and Castle are sharing the same space, and that incensed darkness has melted from his eyes, so whatever it entailed, she's a little thankful. "Yeah, she's still at the table. We ordered some lunch. In to-go boxes."

"If you guys don't care, I'm going to see if she'll give me a ride back to the morgue. I, uh, have some questions I needed to ask her about a case."

The young woman doesn't wait for an answer before rising on her tiptoes to kiss her father's cheek and bolting from the room.

Kate slides down from her perch by the sink and she's suddenly standing right in front of him. She's not sure if there's a magnetic force drawing them together or she's just a bad judge of space in this tiny room, but she wasn't expecting him to be so close. He reaches an arm out to steady her, but pulls it back to his side before he allows the touch.

It's awkward. And she's pretty sure the walls are closing in on them, and it's hot in here, and her pulse is thrashing against her wrists and temples, her chest his thumping dangerously hard. And she has no earthly idea what the hell is happening.

"Kate—"

"Oh, oops!" An elderly lady has pushed open the restroom door and is looking at both of them with kind confusion on her face. She eyes the skirted shadow on the bathroom door indicating that yes, she is at the correct gendered entrance. Castle has the courtesy to appear embarrassed. Well, Kate is backed into the counter and he's hovering very close to her, and her hair is probably a God-awful mess from where she's fingered it in frustration, so, yeah, they undoubtedly appear less than decent. She feels the immediate need to explain, but Castle beats her to the punch.

"So sorry," he says as he wraps a warm palm at Kate's elbow. "My wife was feeling ill, and I didn't want her to be alone."

"Oh." The woman pauses, looks relieved. "Honey, that's quite alright. So sweet. I hope you're feeling better, darling." The little old lady looks like she wants to feed Kate chicken noodle soup and give Castle an affectionate pinch on the cheek.

"So sorry for the inconvenience, ma'am. I'm going to take her home now. I'm sure she'll be just fine." He gives her a little wave of his fingers as he ushers Kate out the door. "Sorry," he whispers to Kate, letting go of her arm, taking his heat with him. "I'm pretty sure she thought were were—"

"Yeah, I know."

They make it back to the table and the other two in their party have already left, two white Styrofoam containers the only occupants of their booth.

"She drove," Kate sighs, just realizing that her ride left without her. Lanie would pick the diner on the other end of town…

"I can give you a lift back to the precinct," he offers.

"That's okay. I have the rest of the afternoon off. I'll just take a cab. Maybe walk for a while."

"It's going to storm, so you probably shouldn't walk." He's staring at her, and she wonders if he's thinking about the night she showed up on his doorstep, battered and bruised, drenched to the bone, seeking him, his warmth, his love. He gave it all.

And now she has none of it.

Kate ducks a little to spy out the window, confirm the weather. It does look a little ominous. "Cab it is," she winces.

"I'll forgive the fact that you totally didn't believe my weather report and still extend the offer of a ride home."

She smiles. "Castle, you don't have to."

He fishes out his wallet, throws some bills on the table and picks up their untouched lunch. "What if I want to?"

**00000000000000000000**

**Thank you.  
**


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